


You Should See Me in a Crown

by tiger_moran



Series: Lyric [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Don't copy to another site, M/M, Possible sexual assault references, Protectiveness, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27329626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: Fifth in a collection of standalone but also interconnected Moriarty and Moran fics inspired by lyrics from songs, particularly pop/rock songs.
Relationships: Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty
Series: Lyric [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992709
Kudos: 9





	You Should See Me in a Crown

**Author's Note:**

> Billie Eilish - You Should See Me in a Crown
> 
> You should see me in a crown  
> I'm gonna run this nothing town  
> Watch me make 'em bow  
> One by one by one

“Dear me, Mr Fothergill, you have erred,” Moriarty says, looming over the cowering figure – member of parliament, aristocrat, and defiler of young serving girls and father of numerous bastard children also, that information coming to the Professor courtesy of an associate of his in what is frequently termed 'the gutter press' – reduced to a quivering mess on the tiled floor.

The man kneels, his head bent over, his beautifully-made Savile Row suit besmirched by dust and dirt (and that _is_ a shame, to spoil someone else's piece of art, the tailor's exquisite work, so, but it cannot be helped). How the mighty have fallen, Moriarty thinks, and how easily this utterly corrupt and ruthless man was brought to his knees and made to bow down to the Professor – metaphorically speaking, and somewhat more literally also.

“Please!” Fothergill cries, as Moran presses the gun firmly into the base of his skull, though rather more for effect than because he intends to use it. If he shoots the man he would rather do so from a distance – safer that way, and far less messy. “Please, I-” Abruptly he tries to lunge forward, hands outstretched as if to try to grasp Moriarty's clothing, whereupon Moran grips him by the back of his jacket collar and hauls him back into place, pinning him down at the Professor's feet, his nose just a mere inch away from Moriarty's perfectly polished shiny black boots.

“Touch him and I'll put a fucking bullet through your brain right now!” Moran snarls, punctuating this with another jab with the pistol into the back of Fothergill's head.

“Please what?” Moriarty enquires, tilting his head slightly, regarding Fothergill with infinite calm in his blue-grey eyes. And yet before the man can reply the Professor has glanced away, as if any response that Fothergill can make interests the Professor not at all. With a hand gloved in fine black leather Moriarty picks a small piece of fluff from the lapel of his jacket.

“Please... don't kill me. I have money!”

Moriarty arches an eyebrow at this and presses a gloved finger to his lips, tapping it against them as he considers this statement. “And now you err again,” he says after a second or two's thought. “In presuming I care about your money.”

“Then what...?” Fothergill cries, face still pressed against the cool tiles.

Moriarty squats before him, peering into Fothergill's tear-stained face, scrutinising him. “I did not say I wanted your money, Mr Fothergill,” he says, his voice soft, yet with each word carefully and properly enunciated. “I said that I wanted to see you _pay_.”


End file.
